Page 26 of The Underboss's Secret Twins
A second Lombardi gunman takes aim?—
Bang.
Marino jerks violently as the bullet rips through him. His knees buckle, his body crumpling onto the pavement just outside the café.
I gasp, but there’s no time to react, no time to scream or howl or cry.
Marco is already moving.
He pivots, firing another shot. It catches the second enforcer in the chest, sending him crashing into a table, shattering glass and ceramic in his fall.
There’s one left.
The last Lombardi gunman raises his weapon?—
Bang.
A single shot.
A perfect, lethal hit.
The man staggers, eyes blown wide, before collapsing in a graceless heap.
Silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence.
The acrid scent of gunpowder lingers in the air, mingling with the bitter aroma of spilled coffee and something metallic. My pulse pounds against my skull, the world tilting beneath me as I stare at the wreckage, at the bodies—at Marino.
He’s still, motionless, a dark stain spreading beneath him on the ground.
Oh, God.
I open my mouth—to speak, to breathe—but before I can find my voice, Marco grips my wrist, yanking me toward him.
"We have to go. Now."
My feet barely keep up as he drags me outside, toward the curb where his black Maserati is parked. His grip is unyielding, forged like steel, every movement sharp, efficient, ruthless.
The second he throws the car door open, I scramble inside, my hands shaking as I buckle myself in. Now I realize, this whole meeting has been in vain. I didn’t even get the thumb drive from Marino. He was still holding it when the attackers arrived.
Marco slams the driver’s side door shut.
The tires screech against the pavement as he peels away from the curb, speeding into the dark streets of Nuova Speranza.
For a moment, all I can hear is my own breathing—ragged, uneven.
Then I glance at Marco.
His jaw is clenched so tight it could crack. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel, veins popping beneath the skin. His entire body is taut, vibrating with fury, with barely restrained violence.
I lick my lips, trying to steady my voice. "Marco, I?—"
"Do you have any idea what you’ve done?"
7
SOFIA
